Real People
by InChrist-Billios
Summary: People say that the Bible is outdated and boring. This is what I see when I read the Bible. A series of oneshots portraying famous :or not so famous: scenes from the Bible in a different way than you might have thought of them before.
1. The Widow's Oil

So, I've finally done it. I've been thinking about this for a while, and now I've gritted my teeth and put myself out there. This will be a little series of oneshots from the Bible, to really show you all how I see the Bible. It's not a musty old book, outdated and overtranslated -- it's life. It is the word of the Creator that He gave to us to prove His love. (As if He needed to prove anything to us!)

I've started this out with a well-known miracle. Please read it and leave me a review to let me know what you think. Thank you!

* * *

"Mommy, what did he want?" 

The timid question arrested his mother's movements as readily as if he had pulled on her arm. She paused and set the jar of oil down, then turned to look at him, memories of Hassan's message attacking her heart.

"Don't worry about it, dear one," she said soothingly, tickling his chin with a calloused finger.

"Are we going to starve?"

The tired smile slipped from her face and she hugged him protectively.

"Now why would you wonder that?" she asked playfully, but she couldn't completely conceal her worry from the boy.

"Your tummy is always growling," he said through his mother's hair, "even after dinner. And you always give Bade and I more to eat than you."

She pulled away and beheld his young face, crumpled with concern. She swallowed past the ache that filled her heart; she couldn't imagine that Hassan would take her two sons to pay her debts.

"Don't doubt Jehovah-jireh, Fawzi," she said. "Now go play with Bade, I'm going to sell this oil; I'll be back soon, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, and hugged her quickly again before racing out the door.

She sighed; how could she live without her two angels? Hassan's words had crushed her more than he could know, though he seemed loath to say them. She picked up the bottle of oil and started out the front door when Fawzi's face appeared in the window.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, dear?" she said, giving him her full attention.

How many more opportunities would she have to do that? Hassan said he would take them in the morning.

"I love you," he said, then smiled and disappeared.

Part of her heart left with him and she wiped away a tear as she walked out the door to purchase their last meal as a family.

* * *

Fawzi was just about as clueless as most little boys are to anything serious, but Mommy's sudden reluctance to smile was not lost on him. She no longer ran around with them and tickled them until their sides felt like they would burst. Bade had told him in his best big brother voice that Mommy was only missing how things were _before_, and she would be alright in a little while. Fawzi knew better than to contradict his twelve year old brother, who was a veritable tower of knowledge, but still, he didn't think _that_ was all that was wrong. 

After all, he and Bade missed Father, and they were still laughing and playing. Mommy said Father would like to look down from heaven and see his sons laughing, so they did. It made it hurt a little less, too, when he saw his friends' fathers and felt a little lump in his throat when they hugged and laughed together.

"Fawzi! Pay attention!" Bade called to his little brother.

Fawzi shook his head and smiled boyishly. If Mommy said she was alright, then she was alright. She was never sad for long, why worry now?

He caught the balled up rags that Bade threw at him and tossed it back deftly.

"I'm getting bored of this," he said. "Can we play tag?"

"You're it!" Bade shouted, and sprinted down the street.

Fawzi shouted his complaint, but laughed and tore after him. A long while passed in this playful manner, until Fawzi claimed he had tagged Bade, and Bade disagreed. This resulted in a quick tussle with no clear winner, so Bade took up the time-worn cry and dashed inside.

"I'm gonna tell!"

"No wait!" the other screeched in alarm, "I was only kidding! I just—! Oof!"

He ran straight into his mother, who was hushing Bade.

"Fawzi, good," she murmured. Her eyes were lit up, like they had always been _before._ "Listen carefully, I have an important job for you two."

"But Mom, he—"

"Please Bade, we will talk about this later. I need you and Fawzi to go and borrow empty vessels from our neighbors. Jars, bowls, anything."

"Empty – vessels?" Bade said strangely, but Fawzi was already halfway down the street.

He didn't need to question his mother's motives. If she wanted empty vessels, boy was he going to find the biggest emptiest vessels in the city! He knocked on his friend Gazali's door, huffing for breath.

"Hello, Fawzi," Gazali's mother said kindly, "Gazali is at Haruni's house."

"That's fine," Fawzi said quickly, "Mommy wants to borrow some empty things from you. Like jars or bowls. _Ves_sels," he repeated, careful to pronounce the word just as his mother had done, unsure what exactly a vessel was and not wanting to get the wrong things.

"Of course," she said, though her eyebrows lifted in surprise, "what does she need them for?"

"I dunno," he said impatiently. Why did it matter? Mommy said so, so it must be important.

"Alright then," she said, and walked into the house.

She returned with a large bowl that had a few jars and smaller bowls nestled into it carefully.

"I don't know what size or how much she wanted," she said apologetically, "can you carry this?"

"Yes I can!" Fawzi said indignantly, and took the armload from the woman.

He almost staggered, but managed to steady his weight and his pride before they crashed into the ground.

"Thank you!" he said breathlessly, and brought home the precious cargo to his mother.

He and Bade worked at their chore all afternoon, racing each other to the houses and comparing the size and weight of their burdens as the pile in the kitchen steadily grew bigger. Bade kept asking Mommy what it was for, but she pressed a finger to her lips and smiled secretively, which made Fawzi grin. It was a secret, like they had always done _before._ A surprise, that would be absolutely wonderful.

Finally, after they had asked everyone they knew and the stack of _ves_sels in their kitchen left hardly any room for them to walk, Mommy shut the door and beckoned them into the kitchen.

"When I ask for a vessel, Bade," she said, "hand it to me quick as you can. And Fawzi, when I give you one, put it carefully on the table and make sure it doesn't fall over, okay?"

"Okay," they chorused, though Bade's forehead was lined with confusion.

They stationed themselves on either side of Mommy, and Bade handed her an old jar, half again as big as his fist. She picked up their little jar that held the remainder of their oil and uncorked it, then poured it into the new container.

"Mommy, what—" Bade started, then was quiet.

The oil kept coming until the jar was filled up. She handed it to Fawzi, her fingers shaking slightly. Fawzi took it and placed it on the table, right in the middle, then came back. Bade looked like he had been punched. Mommy's cheeks were flushed and her eyes were practically giving off light. Fawzi waited for another _ves_sel, wondering why they were acting funny.

"Another vessel, please," she said quietly to Bade, who handed her a huge bowl.

Again she poured, and the bowl was filled to the brim. This time, Fawzi understood what was going on. He stared at the little jar in wonder.

"Mommy, how's it doing that?" he asked, carrying the bowl over to the table with a little difficulty.

"God provides," his mother said, giggling, as she poured oil into another jar. "Jehovah-jireh. Always."

They spent the rest of the afternoon, laughing and joking with each other as the _ves_sels slowly filled up the table and spilled onto the floor in the bedroom. Fawzi was mesmerized by the jar, and kept looking at it carefully, to see where the oil was coming from.

"Bring me another vessel," she said, holding out her hand to Bade.

"There is not one vessel more," Bade said, peeking under the table to make sure he hadn't missed any.

Fawzi clapped his hands delightedly, then pulled on Mommy's arm.

"Look, Mommy, look at all our oil!" he cried. "We should take a bath in it!"

Bade collapsed in hysterics at the thought, and Mommy laughed too, a loud happy laugh that they hadn't heard in a long time.

"We could, couldn't we? But I need to thank someone; come with me and we can all thank him together."

"Thank who?" Bade said curiously.

"His name is Elisha," Mommy said, leading them out the door.

She brought them to the outskirts of town, where an older man stood as if waiting for them.

"I have done as you said," Mommy said, in a voice that sounded like she was talking to a king.

Fawzi was stricken with shyness and he hid behind his mother's skirt, peeking out at the proceedings. The man walked closer to them, and Fawzi could see his twinkling eyes.

"Go, sell the oil and pay your debt, and you and your sons can live on the rest," he said gruffly, though kindly.

"Thank you," Mommy whispered, and nudged her sons.

"Thank you," Bade echoed in awe, looking up at the intimidating figure.

Fawzi buried his face in his mother's skirt, but she fished him out and held him in front of her.

"Now Fawzi, say thank you to the nice man," she said softly, "he helped us get all the oil."

"Thank you," he said bashfully, staring at the man's dirty sandaled feet.

"Thank Jehovah," the man replied, and smiled.

He turned and started to walk away. Mommy and Bade went back to the house, but he wanted to stay, so Mommy said to be back by sunset. Fawzi sat on the ground and watched the figure of the man toil down the road, wondering.

* * *

2 Kings 4: 1-7; NASB 

1. Now a certain woman of the wives of the sons of the prophets cried out to Elisha, "Your servant my husband is dead, and you know that your servant feared the LORD; and the creditor has come to take my two children to be his slaves."

2. Elisha said to her, "What shall I do for you? Tell me, what do you have in the house?" And she said, "Your maidservant has nothing in the house except a jar of oil."

3. Then he said, "Go, borrow vessels at large for yourself from all your neighbors, even empty vessels; do not get a few.

4. "And you shall go in and shut the door behind you and your sons, and pour out into all these vessels, and you shall set aside what is full."

5. So she went from him and shut the door behind her and her sons; they were bringing the vessels to her and she poured.

6. When the vessels were full, she said to her son, "Bring me another vessel." And he said to her, "There is not one vessel more." And the oil stopped.

7. Then she came and told the man of God. And he said, "Go, sell the oil and pay your debt, and you and your sons can live on the rest."


	2. David and Bathsheba

**Long time no see! Thank you, all you who reviewed!**

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2 Samuel 11:1-15, 26-27a; NASB 

1. Then it happened in the spring, at the time when kings go out to battle, that David sent Joab and his servants with him and all Israel, and they destroyed the sons of Ammon and besieged Rabbah. But David stayed at Jerusalem.

2. Now when evening came David arose from his bed and walked around on the roof of the king's house, and from the roof he saw a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful in appearance.

3. So David sent and inquired about the woman. And one said, "Is this not Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?"

4. David sent messengers and took her, and when she came to him, he lay with her; and when she had purified herself from her uncleanness, she returned to her house.

5. The woman conceived; and she sent and told David, and said, "I am pregnant."

6. Then David sent to Joab, saying, "Send me Uriah the Hittite." So Joab sent Uriah to David.

7. When Uriah came to him, David asked concerning the welfare of Joab and the people and the state of the war.

8. Then David said to Uriah, "Go down to your house, and wash your feet." And Uriah went out of the king's house, and a present from the king was sent out after him.

9. But Uriah slept at the door of the king's house with all the servants of his lord, and did not go down to his house.

10. Now when they told David, saying, "Uriah did not go down to his house," David said to Uriah, "Have you not come from a journey? Why did you not go down to your house?"

11. Uriah said to David, "The ark and Israel and Judah are staying in temporary shelters, and my lord Joab and the servants of my lord are camping in the open field. Shall I then go to my house to eat and to drink and to lie with my wife? By your life and the life of your soul, I will not do this thing."

12. Then David said to Uriah, "Stay here today also, and tomorrow I will let you go." So Uriah remained in Jerusalem that day and the next.

13. Now David called him, and he ate and drank before him, and he made him drunk; and in the evening he went out to lie on his bed with his lord's servants, but he did not go down to his house.

14. Now in the morning David wrote a letter to Joab and sent it by the hand of Uriah.

15. He had written in the letter, saying, "Place Uriah in the front line of the fiercest battle and withdraw from him, so that he may be struck down and die."

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26. Now when the wife of Uriah heard that Uriah her husband was dead, she mourned for her husband.

27. When the time of mourning was over, David sent and brought her to his house and she became his wife...

* * *

"Bathsheba, daughter of Eliam, wife of Uriah, my king," said a servant, bowing deeply in the doorway to David's gauze-draped room. 

He stood up quickly, an unsettling smile appearing on his face as he strode to the doorway to meet the beautiful woman. Her gaze was set firmly on the floor and her eyes were red, puffy. David took her hands in his and grinned, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"What is it, my love?" he said in a low voice, alluring and heavy. "Did you miss me?"

"I—I have news for you, my lord," she said, gulping nervously.

Her hands, encased in his own, twitched, like she had almost pulled them away.

"News that you couldn't send with a servant?" he said, like it was a joke, and put one arm around her waist, drawing her a little closer to him.

"Yes, my lord," she said, stiffening perceptibly when her leg touched his.

"What is it, then," he said playfully, running fingers through her long dark hair.

Bathsheba almost shuddered, and her jaw clenched.

"Tell me, or will I have to coax it out of you?" he whispered, leaning in so his lips touched her jaw.

She did jerk back this time, a reaction that she couldn't control.

"My lord king," she said in a strangled voice, watching his countenance darken with annoyance. "I am pregnant."

The muscles around his mouth went slack and his eyes widened slightly. Bathsheba was relieved when he sat down heavily on a cushion and gave up his pursuits, for the moment. She hugged herself tightly around the middle and her head dropped, ashamed to look at him.

True, it hadn't really been her fault. After all, who could disobey the king's orders? But perhaps she should have put up a bigger fight. Maybe she should have rebelled more. Would it be better to be dead, or be a known adulteress? She would be the first to blame; the righteous king of Israel would get off free, and she knew it. She hated herself for going along with it. She felt unclean, despite the cleansing she had meticulously followed, and she felt violated.

Her trembling fingers rested on her abdomen, where she could imagine the tiny child, and she closed her eyes in a prayer to God.

_Please. Please, please._

She could think of nothing else to say.

"I will bring your husband back from the war, and you will lay with him," the king finally said.

She didn't look up, but nodded.

"When the child is born, he will think it his own and no one will know any better."

Her heart clenched at the next sin she was being commanded to commit, but what else could she do?

"Yes, my king."

He brushed her hair out of her face and she started; she didn't hear him stand. His face was smiling again and he tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Everything will be just fine," he promised.

"Yes, my king," she repeated, backing up quickly and curtsying.

Then, she practically fled the room. She couldn't remember the servants escorting her to her own house, but she knew it must have happened when she found herself in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. How it all began.

If she had just drawn the curtain, if she had not longed for the moonlight to illuminate her bathing, none of this would have happened. Her vanity, her wish to see her own beauty reflected in the water alongside the stars, had overcome her heart which had reminded her of the view to the king's roof. _He will not come, _she had thought, pushing the fabric back from the window. _It is night, and he will be sleeping._

She drew the curtain closed after that, every time.

She fasted and prayed while she waited for her husband to return, supplicating the Lord and asking for wisdom, because she could not think of what she should do. If she obeyed the Lord, the king would be shamed and defaced which would bring shame onto Israel, but if she obeyed David, she would be lying, a deadly sin.

By the time her husband returned to the house, she had made her decision. And so it was, dressed up and bold, that she waited in the entrance hall for her husband to enter the house. She would tell him the truth, she decided, and let his decision be what it was, whether to expose her and put her to death, or whatever else the Lord may put on his heart. It gave her strength to know she was making the right decision, but she was also scared to death. And as the hours swept by, she began to grow more afraid. Doubts were pressing in on her firm decision, weakening it. When she was informed that her husband refused to enter the house, because his men were still at war, she didn't know whether to be relieved or more frightened.

She was proud of her husband, for being noble and just, but now how could she tell him? How could she gain his forgiveness if he never saw her? She tried to find him and speak to him for the days he remained in Jerusalem, but she was stopped, either by a servant of the king, or a servant of hers, saying that she mustn't weaken her husband's resolve to do good in the sight of the Lord. All too soon, he left, and she never even saw his face.

She wept bitterly, and her servants tried to comfort her, but they could not. She wanted Uriah to hold her, and say that he forgave her, and everything would be fine. The king's words echoed hollowly in her ears and she clenched her teeth against them. She was frightened, now, for her life. It would not be long before people would be able to see that she was pregnant, and everyone knew that her husband was at war. She would be put to death, and her husband would never know the truth.

The alternative had never occurred to her, and when she received news that Uriah was dead, she was heartbroken. She knew immediately that it must have been ordered by the king, because Uriah's men were loyal to him, and more of his company would have died in a true battle. They would have died to protect him, as he would have done for them. She mourned for an eternity, hardly eating, hardly sleeping, and welcoming death. Uriah had died, and she was unforgiven. The sense of dirtiness intensified and she couldn't bear to look in the mirror.

Her servants, alarmed, told the king of her state, and he sent for her again. She shuffled into his presence, hair smooth and washed by the servants, dressed in a gown that she hadn't even looked at as they helped her into it. She focused on his feet, feeling empty.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and she didn't even flinch at the pet name.

His soft hands gently grasped her face and tilted it up, until her eyes were forced onto his own.

"You have mourned long enough," he said, and it was an order. "I will take you as my wife."

Numbness. She nodded, shifting her gaze to his left. He moved until he caught her eyes again.

"You will have everything you could want."

She nodded again. She didn't care about anything anymore.

"Oh, Bathsheba," he sighed, and let go of her chin. It dropped, and her eyes once again found his feet. "Don't be angry at me."

"I am not, my king," she said emotionlessly.

He slid his hands onto her hips, but she didn't respond.

"You're something," he said, and she could hear the slight grin in his voice.

She crossed her hands in front of her stomach, still flat in appearance, and said nothing. After another moment, he let his hands drift off and she curtsied automatically before leaving.

She still drew the curtain when she bathed.

* * *

**Final word count: 1346**

**I replied to you all through the Review-Reply feature, but here are the replies to my anonymous reviewers, if they haven't deserted me. --hope--**

CAEJones**: Thank you for the more lengthy review, and please do tell me what you think about the characters once you figure that out. More description? Ugh. I'm not so great at that. Was this chapter better?**

Floober**: Thank you for the praise. I hope you liked this one, too.**

**I accept any criticism you feel needs to be offered. I don't want to contradict the Bible or anything, so if you could just help me out if you spot discrepancies, I'd really appreciate it.**

**God bless!**


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